


a king's man

by orphan_account



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Brothels, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24057637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Are you working today?” Cor murmurs as he pulls away, voice quiet between them, a carefully kept secret.Prompto winds his arms about the man’s neck and tilts upwards onto his toes, even though Cor still towers over him. “I could be later.”--Prompto works at Ardyn's establishment and spends his days working at the bar and entertaining paying customers in his room. He always keeps an eye out for one customer in particular.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Cor Leonis
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

Tavern lights flicker as boisterous mirth echoes about the room. Prompto isn’t on the floor tonight; he’s smiling and laughing and serving drinks to locals and sailors from behind the bar. Some make comments about what a lovely barmaid he makes; he winks and tells them he’ll have to charge them for additional services if they keep it up.

He doesn’t have days off, not really. He has days where he works the floor and days where he can separate himself from the clientele with the bar. It’s a welcome reprieve from the grubby, grabby hands and wandering touches, even if he isn’t free from the building itself. Not that he’s _trapped_ here, of course. He simply has nowhere else to go.

Prompto watches one of the girls swan about the room in her ruffled skirts and low-cut neckline, bosom squeezed until she’s practically spilling out of her dress. Gazes follow her as she settles onto the lap of one of her regulars and whispers sweet nothings in his ear. Prompto makes a mental note to check he’s paid before he leaves as she takes him by the hand to lead him upstairs.

He doesn’t dislike his work, not in the slightest, but entertaining the constant attentions of the men who frequent their establishment can be tiring without rest. He’s the only man among the working staff and while he’s not immune to the derisive comments often thrown his way, he has his regulars who slip into his room when their crew isn’t looking. They’re good men, in general. Some treat him delicately, like a china doll that can be shattered if mishandled. Others grab him by the throat and fuck him without restraint. A few ask him not to speak, to stay quiet and face away from them; he never tries to ask what their issues are and in turn they slip him a few extra coins for his discretion.

Bluntly put, he enjoys sex. He likes it and he’s comfortable in his own body. Ardyn had initially taken him on only as serving staff with no pressure to join the girls in their working rota. However, it didn’t take long for him to get curious about their seemingly mysterious rituals and they were only too happy to bring him further into their ranks. They taught him how to dress himself in ways that allowed for the casual slip of a shoulder, how to line his eyes with dark smoke and rouge his lips, how to sashay across a room and ensure all gazes are drawn to him. They pointed out the rough clients, the ones who tip extra, the ones with wives at home who they try not to think of. It had never been explicitly announced that Prompto had joined as a working boy, but a certain type of client took note the first time he slid into a man’s lap and toyed with him until he led him back to one of the rooms.

He catches a few glances thrown his way now but he ignores them. Although he considers his bar days as an ‘off’ day, he’s still extraordinarily busy. Ardyn’s office door is always cracked open, the man inside ready to storm out and discipline any customers who step out of line, but he leaves drunkards to bicker and slosh their ale about. He only cares once they threaten him or lay a hand on his workers. Prompto has no fights to break up but he still has drinks to serve and spillages to clean. He’ll need to duck out from behind the bar and avoid unwanted hands to clean the various tables soon.

The front door to the tavern swings open as a chorus of new voices join the fray. A light breeze accompanies the newcomers and Prompto throws them a welcoming smile but pays them little mind aside from that. His thoughts are elsewhere trying to keep track of the various working girls and the tasks he needs to complete before they close up for the night. It’s not until the group finds a table or two to pull together and settle at that he realises who they are. The King’s Men.

Not the actual king, of course. Captain Regis has been dubbed King of the Oceans since before Prompto was born. Both he and his inner circle maintain that they are firmly _privateers_ and not pirates, but Prompto has his suspicions.

Cid catches his attention and Prompto nods before the man can indicate his request. Back at the bar, he gathers the required drinks and grabs one of the girls to help carry them over.

“Good to see you guys are still kicking,” he says as he sets the tankards down.

Regis smiles and cuts off Cid’s exclamation. “Thank you, Prompto. You’re well, I hope?”

Prompto retorts with a bright grin and a wink. “You know me, same old.”

He takes his leave before anyone can complain about lack of service, but not without sending one of the King’s Men a purposeful look.

Tables are wiped and snoozing patrons woken. Tabs are settled as some patrons retire early for the night. He calls for a colleague to look after the bar as he goes to check the stock room. It’s a chilly, damp room with little more than alcohol and cobwebs in it, but he pretends to busy himself as he takes stock. A minute or so later, the door creaks open and Prompto smiles to himself. Warmth settles behind him as someone presses against his back, looking over his shoulder.

“I didn’t know you served Caribbean rum,” Cor muses, gruff voice rumbling against Prompto’s ear. Prompto shivers and leans back into him.

“Reserved for special occasions,” Prompto replies, tilting his head back to look at the man; Cor’s face is close enough for him to be able to count his lashes. He goes to speak again, but finds his lips occupied. He smiles into the kiss and slowly turns. Cor presses forwards and crowds him against the shelves of liquor as hands come to settle at his waist. Prompto hums in delight as Cor nips at his lower lip and follows it with the taste of ale. It's breathy and warm, a timeless sensation that has heat rising in Prompto's cheeks. He turns his head as Cor kisses the corner of his mouth and trails a line to his neck. Pale, freckled skin is marred with marks from other men. Cor adds his own to the mix, holding Prompto as he gasps and twitches. 

“Are you working today?” Cor murmurs as he pulls away, voice quiet between them, a carefully kept secret.

Prompto winds his arms about the man’s neck and tilts upwards onto his toes, even though Cor still towers over him. “I could be later.”

Cor nods and offers another gentler kiss, little more than a brush of lips, a promise. “I’ll wait.”

And with that, Prompto is left alone again. He waits a moment for his heart to settle and his breath to even out. He knows the first rule of his work is to not get involved with clients. Talk to them all you want, extract their secrets and desires as they lay spent in your bed, but don’t get attached. He should have seen it coming, really.

He’s not sure which category of client Cor belongs to. He’s never been shameful in their exploits—Prompto’s entertained him in the main lounge before and they've flirted in front of his crew—but he’s caught somewhere between wanton roughness and sincere intimacy. He tells Prompto tales of adventures from his youth as the blonde lies spread over his broad, sweat-slick chest. He cards calloused fingers through soft hair and huffs airs of laughter at Prompto’s antics. They’ve built something together, Prompto thinks. He won’t lie to himself and say it’s anything real, that he’s been swept off his feet, but he can’t deny the way his heart skips a beat when the man walks into a room and fixes him with a heated stare. His mouth runs dry and warmth pools in his stomach when he thinks about the expanse of muscle and gnarled scars waiting for him. He’s not sure what Cor sees in him, hadn’t thought slender and playful to be his type, yet butterflies flutter in his stomach whenever the man turns his attention on him in a way that no other client does.

Prompto knows little will come of this infatuation. Cor has told him that he’s more than a quick fuck in a regular port stop, that he values him for his companionship on the nights they spend together, but Prompto knows he doesn’t live in a fantasy. He’s not some distraught maiden in need of rescuing from a life of sin. He chose to accept Ardyn’s offer of work when he found him as a lost, orphaned teen; he chose to slip into the work of the night.

Yet still, he likes to imagine that one day someone will offer him something else, somewhere else. He’s paid off his debt to Ardyn. He has no contract. But he remains, with no-one and nowhere else to turn to. For now, though, tales of adventure are enough for him. They have to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for anti-sex worker language

The King’s Men are here again, heads bowed together and they trade stories over full tankards of booze. Prompto can see them loosening up gradually throughout the night. He’s stopped by to say hello but hasn’t had chance to chat too much; a client with a tremor in his voice and an avoidance to his gaze had requested him upstairs and Prompto isn’t one to turn down an easy client. The man had thanked him rather awkwardly and scarpered off into the night afterwards. It was oddly endearing, looking back.

He’s washed himself off and rinsed out the taste from his tongue, and finds himself simply swanning about from one table to the next, mostly checking on the girls but trading flirtations as he goes. Many who venture into their establishment come for cheap, good booze and sensual socialisation; most don’t end up doing anything that requires additional payment but enjoy the company and the view, nonetheless. Some have derogatory views, of course—that, in itself, in unavoidable—but they’re the ones choosing to be here and partake in the revelry.

He does his rounds and ends up by the King’s Men once again. Regis has some new faces with him, no doubt introducing them to the town and including them in his circle. He’s a good captain, from what Prompto can tell. He’s never been able to draw out form people what _exactly_ they do over on their ship, the Citadel. Cor has told him stories when tangled up with him, basking in their joint afterglow, but he’s not much of a talker and not one for great detail. He’ll tell Prompto of battles fought and enemies bested, but not how and why they ended up there in the first place. Regardless, Regis strikes him as honourable. He has an air of authority about him, an energy that commands a room, but from what Prompto can tell he always makes time for his crew regardless of their station. Prompto appreciates a man who doesn’t allow seniority to dictate respect owed.

“Prompto, do come and have a rest,” Regis says as the blonde nears. "You've been rushing about all night."

Prompto gravitates towards their table and towards one man in particular. Warmth blooms in his chest as Cor’s hand comes to rest at his hip as he stands by his seat. Prompto leans into the touch. Cor seems looser than his usual rigid self, hard still but somewhat fuzzier around the edges. Prompto has no doubt what they’ll be doing later.

His own hand comes to place at Cor's back. He plays with the shorn hairs at the nape of his neck and resists the urge to smirk as he feels the hold at his waist tighten. “No rest for the wicked, Captain. You know that.”

“Ah, but you’re not one of the wicked,” Regis retorts. He turns to the man next to him and nods towards Prompto. “Libertus, this young gentleman handles terrors far greater than we ever could.” The man in question raises his brows and regards Prompto with an inebriated smile, but says nothing.

Prompto rolls his eyes. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Didn’t you open fire at Tummelt from your balcony a month ago?” Cor chimes in.

Prompto gives him a friendly shove. His strength does little, of course, but Cor allows himself to be moved by the push anyway. “I have _no idea_ what you’re talking about, Mr Leonis. I don’t have any firearms in my rooms.”

Cor keeps quiet at that but smirks as he takes a drink. He’d been the one to buy Prompto’s newest weapon, a sleek silver revolver that handles like a dream.

“Best not to test him,” Regis jests. “I’ve heard stories about this boy’s aim.”

Prompto tries not to let his pride show, but the hidden compliment fills him with glee. “Well, someone’s gotta scare these fellas off. Can’t always rely on the big guy,” he says, head nodding towards the ever-cracked door to Ardyn’s office.

A voice calls to him from the bar before he can say anything else. He looks over his shoulder and then throws a smile to the King’s Men. “Duty calls,” he shrugs, and tries to ignore how Cor’s touch lingers as he pulls away.

At the bar, he gathers a tray and sets about balancing a variety of drinks atop it. The shoulder of his loose shirt slips and reveals a freckled shoulder, but he leaves it as is. It’s warm and sticky in the tavern area. The windows remain closed for privacy—they don’t allow people to peep in and enjoy the sights for free—and the air feels thick with sweat and stink. Paired with the dark, wooden aesthetic and plush red and purple velvets that decorate the interior, it all leads to a rather intimate atmosphere. It feels as if everyone is sat on top of one another, as if their inebriation bleeds into each other. It’s enough to make one feel drunk without a single drop of liquor.

He follows Cindy as she leads him towards sprawling tables of merchants he vaguely recognises. They leer as the duo approach but with the volume of drinks they’ve just purchased, Prompto gives them a free pass. There’s a limit to how much he will put up with, but that limit can be altered with a little coin. He lingers back as Cindy takes the drinks and spreads them about the tables. She leans over saucily and titters as hands grab at her skirts. She’s a feisty girl and smart as anything; Prompto knows she’s sizing up the men for whoever she deems most likely to treat her well and tip generously after a good time.

He hands over his tray of drinks for Cindy to deliver. He meets her gaze and she gives him a nod; she can handle herself from here. He smiles in return and turns to leave, wondering if meandering back to the King’s Men’s table would seem like too much favouritism on his part. Before he can make a decision, he hears a yelp, and spins just in time to see Cindy tumble to the ground. Her tray goes flying; tankards and glasses clatter to the ground, some splintering and shattering. Her front is splashed with alcohol. Her eyes are alight with rage.

One of the men, his leg still stuck out in Cindy’s path, laughs raucously with his friends. Prompto steps forwards in front of Cindy as she pulls herself up.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he says, praying his voice doesn’t wobble. He’s never been fantastic at confrontation; he finds it difficult to reign in his emotions and prevent himself from sounding upset when there’s no reason to be.

The man simply laughs again. Prompto recognises him as a marketplace vendor he's spoken to before. “For what? Tripping a whore?” He elbows the man next to him, who snorts unattractively. Their faces are ruddy and shining with sweat. Prompto feels hatred well up within him.

“Assaulting the staff is cause for eviction. Please leave before this gets any worse.” The words are well rehearsed. He tries to step in and defend the girls when he can, even if they are hardier than him. He’d rather take the hit than them.

When the man stands, Prompto can’t help his stomach dropping. He looms over Prompto’s slight stature. Faded tattoos and broad shoulders leer at him. Prompto doesn’t step back, however, even as Cindy pulls at his shirt from behind him.

“Is that so, _slut_?” He inhales wetly and spits directly into Prompto’s face. Prompto flinches, eyes closed, and takes a deep, calming breath. “If I pay for her, I can do whatever I want.”

“Is there an issue here?” a familiar voice asks. A heavy hand falls on Prompto’s shoulder and he allows himself to be pulled backwards as Cor steps forwards, blocking him and Cindy from the man. He’s taller than the assaulter and much bulkier, obviously well-accustomed to activity more strenuous than hauling crates about the marketplace. The establishment has a no-weapons policy, but it’s obvious that Cor doesn’t need his sword to deal with this.

Prompto falls into line beside Cindy and scrubs at his face, wiping the spittle away. He feels hot and dirty and shame burns at his cheeks.

“Here to save your little pretty boy, Immortal?” The vendor’s jeering does little to affect Cor. He stands tall over the man, gaze hard. The vendor moves forwards, a sway in his step. “What? Scared someone else might have a go at him? Scared someone’s going to steal your personal whore? He’s scum, Immortal. Who knows what diseases you’re both _riddled_ with—”

Cor’s punch lands before the man can finish his mocking. It lands below his eye with a sickening crack. He stumbles back, clutching at his cheek, eyes wide and watering. His friend lunges forwards with a roar. Cor has him pinned against the table in an instant, tankards tumbling and liquor spilling. Another hit lands, an uppercut to the jaw; the man’s head snaps upwards and he slumps. Someone grabs for Cor’s arm and twists it. Cor lets out a pained grunt and Prompto moves before he can think, scrambling to haul them away from Cor. He’s pushed off with a wild swing, filthy, scraggly nails cutting at his face. He stumbles and catches himself on an overturned chair. More people take notice of the situation as he falls, standing and shouting, some jeering, some protesting.

A loud thud silences the crowd. Ardyn’s door, now wide open, cracks against the wall. The man himself, clothed in stylish jacket and trousers with pressed shirt mostly unbuttoned, stands in the doorway. Dark hair falls about his face, framing angular features. Eyes narrow as he takes in the scene. Prompto scrambles to stand upright and smooths down his clothes. His face stings and he’s fairly sure he’s bleeding.

“Now, now, gentlemen. What on earth is going on?” Ardyn chimes as he makes a casual path over to the scuffle. His tone is almost melodic, his steps jaunty; it makes him only more intimidating.

Cor’s movements have stilled. The man twisting his arm doesn’t let go until Ardyn approaches them directly. Cor rolls his shoulders and stands tall, chin tilted upwards.

Cindy’s the first to talk. “I was tripped, sir.”

Ardyn holds up a hand to silence her. His gaze roams over each participant and finally lands on Prompto for a beat longer than the others. He looks back to the customers. “Gentlemen, I expect you to vacate the premises within the next minute. Go take a walk and sober up. I think we’ve all had a bit too much merriment, don’t you?” The group disbands without argument and Ardyn leaves it at that. Indignity swells in Prompto’s stomach and his hands shake with rage.

As Ardyn makes his way back to his office, he stops before Prompto and takes his chin between finger and thumb. He tilts his hand this way and that, and then sighs. “Do try to avoid marring that pretty face of yours, Argentum.”

The group of merchants have vacated the building by the time Ardyn's door closes again, no doubt in search of another inn to plague. Cor is by the King’s Men, gathering his things before he heads out. He knows better than to argue with Ardyn. Prompto spares a glance to Cindy, who’s cleaning up the mess caused with one of the other girls, and promises to help in just a second. He shadows Cor out of the door and catches his hand before he walks away. Cor turns to him. His eyes are hardened, jaw tense. Prompto knows he only has a few moments before someone questions what he’s doing.

Hands cup either side of Cor’s irate expression. Prompto pulls him down; Cor’s back hunches down as he meets Prompto’s lips for a gentle kiss.

“Thank you,” Prompto murmurs against his lips. “I’ll find you later.”

A delicate hand cards through Prompto’s hair. Cor nods, then steps away. Prompto turns to head back inside before his heart can skip too many beats.

The situation seems to recover without much issue. Many patrons have already moved on, incident forgotten. Prompto grabs a wet rag to wipe down the tables as a couple of the girls right the chairs and gather discarded drinking vessels. He’ll find Cindy when things have fully settled to check on her. He knows she can be loud and brash, but it can be hard to distinguish when the girls brush incidents off and when it genuinely affects them, especially when the boss seems to handle them with such a blasé attitude.

The rest of the night is much less eventful. Prompto stops by the King’s Men once or twice and smiles at their genuine concern for his wellbeing. The night dwindles to an end as customers either retire to their own abodes or cough up enough coin to be taken upstairs. Prompto makes no effort to gain any advances; he’s already had one customer tonight and he’s not much in the mood to take on another. A couple of people throw glances his way but he pretends not to notice as he cleans up the place and none of them approach him directly. He’s glad for it.

In his rooms, he sits at his vanity dresser and stares at his reflection in the dirt-speckled mirror. The cut at his cheek has calmed down, or at least he assumes so. He never saw it fresh but the concern of the more pleasant patrons is enough to assume the worst. He’s sure he’s going to have a few new bruises elsewhere but that’s nothing new.

With a sigh, he sets about removing the makeup smudged around his eyes and lips, careful not to aggravate his wound. He’s slow in his movements, taking as much time as he can to waste away the early hours of the morning. Sounds of energetic coupling can be heard from a few rooms over but they quieten down soon enough. Eventually, the building grows silent. Prompto changes into fresh, nondescript clothes and slips out from his room.

He knows which floorboards and which stairs to avoid. His steps are cautious as he moves without sound, the only noise his own heartbeat in his ears. There’s no curfew in place and he’s not forbidden from nocturnal excursions, but he’d rather avoid questioning as to where he’s going. He’s not sure how he’d explain himself.

He opts to take the back door as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. It opens into an alleyway piled with discarded items and the day’s waste. The air feels cool and fresh. The sky is already lightening, stars fading as streaks of red and orange begin to dominate the horizon. Prompto pulls his coat tighter about him and he makes his way out of the alley. It opens onto a street by the pier and the sound of waves grows as he nears. He takes a moment to gather his bearings, and almost leaps into the air as someone clears their throat behind him.

Ardyn stands casually against a wall by the alleyway, eyes closed and cigar at his lips. His lids raise slowly as he gives Prompto a lazy glance. Prompto knows his movements are far more calculated than they seem and apology is ready to tumble from his lips.

Ardyn takes a deep drag from the cigar, smoke curling around his words as he drawls, “Where exactly are you going, dear? It’s dangerous to be out so late. Or is it early, perhaps?”

Prompto swallows. “I was… visiting a friend.”

Ardyn smiles. “Of course. Perhaps you should visit at a more social time. Not everyone keeps to our hours.” He stubs the cigar out on the wall beside him and allows it to fall to the ground. “Come, dear, I have plans for you tomorrow. You’ll need some rest. Besides, you’ve had an exciting day. We wouldn’t want you getting bags under your eyes, now, would we?”

“No,” Prompto replies meekly, already stepping to follow Ardyn. He tries not to glance behind him. He can already see the Citadel in the dawn light.

“Exactly. I overlooked your actions earlier but we don’t want to keep toeing the line. I’d hate to have to discipline you but I can’t have people thinking I’m playing favourites.” He holds a hand out to Prompto. Prompto walks towards him and allows himself to be steered back into the alley and back home.

**Author's Note:**

> supposedly this is multichap but let's see how my commitment issues fare


End file.
